I woke up this morning with a sore back; husband had been hugging me all night. I thought I was being suffocated, but apparently I was only being ‘loved’. Mmmmmmm….
He is still talking ‘supportive’ and ‘lovely’ its making me freak…I will get to the bottom of this. I will probably open a letter and find out he owes £70,0000 in some gambling debt, or open the cupboard and find a dead woman in there, some woman he has killed in a strange sexual accident…who knows…he must be behaving this weird for some reason other than ‘love’. Who knows?
Meanwhile my hair is horrid and putting up such a fight lately, it had overgrown and became unmanageable so I decided to go to the hair stylist and get a compete overhaul. My hair is so black as I have been dyeing it myself in between salon visits and I have no real idea how to do it properly.
I have realised that it needs to go lighter, but slowly, I can’t really go blonde over night! Well I don’t want to go blonde actually as I have been dark all my life…but as we get older we woman all go blonde eventually!
So there I was sitting in a fancy hair salon in Glasgow’s West End. This was the first time I had been to this hair stylist.
It was very smart and well furnished; the girl who took my coat introduced herself and shook my hand (like I was meeting my bank manager).
Then I met the stylist, who also shook my hand as did the girl who was washing my hair! It was like being at a meet and greet!
The woman who was going to ‘do my hair’ came over, felt a lock of my hair, berated me for dyeing it at home, was disgusted at the amount of ‘colour on colour’ that my hair had been through (like my hair was a child whom I had abused…deliberately), she then got another girl over to mock the dryness and stressed look of my ‘ends’, she then asked me how often I ‘dyed it at home’ (she says this accusingly in the same way a social worker would say “How often do you beat Tommy with a sharp stick?”).
After I confessed to the horrible desperate habit of home dyeing, she then proceeded to give me a menu of what she was going to do to my head, it included ‘foil lights’ a ‘colour bath’ a ‘colour treatment’ and a ‘sharp cut all over’. I nodded and let her get on with it all.
Three hours later I have a shapely well groomed head of dark but with all over highlights- shiny healthy hair. I have promised never to home colour and will make sure I go back every month to get my roots done and a treatment.
She was a professional bully, but fucking good at her job.
On the way out I shook hands with the cleaner; she was surprised, but smiled.
Husband loves my hair, he hugged me when I came home and told me he likes my colour. I want to hit him with a sharp stick, where the man who laughed at my hair cuts and slagged me off for spending so much at a salon?

Since husband has been very nice and accommodating, I have become more uneasy. Is he being nice to left foot me? Am I so far down the line in this relationship that any sign of affection is seen as conflict in disguise, like some hive of killer wasps inside a Trojan horse of hugs?

I arrived home and the whole house had been cleaned from top to bottom. He had cleared out the window ledges, dusted every DVD and washed the windows, he had hoovered the floors and totally revamped the welsh dresser. The house smelled lovely, he smiled and I wanted to poke his eye out.

Husband knows that we trade insults the way small countries traded wheat, its how we worked.

I don’t know his new language nor can I decipher it. He speaks kind words with a concerned face-he asks me how I feel and I want to throw myself out of the top floor window.

He looks at me and tells me he never cared enough for me and he will always be there…I want back the shouty man I know how to work, the shouty man I understand…I know his native tongue and already have the currency.

Who is this alien in my home and bed?

Who is this bloke with therapy speak?

Where is the man who sneers at me and bites back at every word we have exchanged since 1979?

Watch this SPACE….

This city is strange but nice, it has a castle, it has a river, and it has a lovely exhibition centre but no internet. I have walked up and down the streets asking people if there are any internet shops....yet no...So I wander into this really funky organic looking cafe and ask the man if they had internet. He explained that they have wi-fi but alas I didn’t have my pc with me, just then a big guy standing beside me offered to let me use his PC. He was tall, had a pony tail, hippy looking dress sense and a strange accent, so I said "Thanks!".
So I have a new friend, he is a computer expert and is from Bulgaria, he let me sit and write this blog, so therefore he is KING! He explained he doesn't use Windows or anything Microsoft or Apple as he has his own programme, he says those people from Microsoft are the DEVIL and Mac aren’t much better....cool!
I checked into the hotel yesterday really early as my flight from Glasgow was at 9am, so I begged to get into my room early. The girl on reception refused, so I burst into tears!
The hotel is called The Big Sleep which is actually a big fat lie, my room overlooks a railway line and trains go past loudly every fucking ten minutes.
Husband has been annoying, after being married 25 years, we have a code, a language that only we know and we use by noting each others tone and double meaning behind every loaded statement we make to each other. Yet lately he has been really nice and helpful and I meanwhile have been talking in our well honed 'nasty code' and he has never risen to the bait...has he forgot our 'code'?
I can’t have him being nice and saying things like "Janey what is it you really want to say? Are you upset about something?"
So I say "What do you think?" (In code that means yes you cunt I am upset now guess why)
So I am scared he has forgotten how to argue with me....how strange would that be?
Lying in the hotel in Cardiff, trying to work out what way to argue and rile my husband is not a good way to spend the night.
By the way Cardiff Jongleurs has a really echo-y microphone and sound system...so strange but the shows have been cool.
Speak Soon

I was so exhausted this morning; I never really slept last night. I have been worried sick about getting everything done and organised for Edinburgh. Yet it seems the more I stress the less actually gets fucking done!

What is wrong with me? At least I am off the fags and that can only be a good thing but I suspect coming off the nicotine is actually really hard this time.

Ashley is being ‘Hormonal Hannah’ this week, she snaps easily, you mustn’t even look at her the wrong way or you get serious verbal lashings from the prettiest face and loveliest mouth.

So this morning I got up and got ready to go down to Scotstoun where Ashley and I were doing our sketches and having them filmed for a TV company to have a look at. We have never performed them in front of anyone before; this is the first time anyone has seen them live. We were both nervous tired and hormonal.

The problem is Ashley makes me laugh just by one look, honestly she can stand there, lift one eyebrow and I am in stitches laughing my ass off.

We welcomed the guy who was setting up a huge camera and helped the woman unload the big sound stick that was to hover over our heads.

Ashley and I adlibbed a lot of the scenes and we both were scared to look at the people in case no one had smiled, you see we don’t really know if the public will laugh at what we perceive to be funny, but our fears were unfound as the guys were chortling away as the worked around us with the camera and sound equipment.

It gave us both a bit more confidence and Ashley is a great physical actor, her strange walk and mad faces were coming thick and fast, she really does respond to an audience and I cannot wait to go on stage at Edinburgh to do our sketch show.

So bird flu has arrived in Scotland, a swan died of the virulent killer strain and we are now all scared birds are going to fucking kill us!

I saw a dead pigeon today and my heart raced, I had to jump over it as I went to the shops. It made me recall how last year at Edinburgh Festival there were loads of dead birds all around the area we were staying; I thought the local squirrels had hand guns and a vendetta against the grey birds of Edinburgh!

So I have no idea if we are all about to perish, meanwhile I am still laughing at my very funny daughter.

By the way my blog went live again and you can see the latest instalment on

 

http://livedigital.com/AOrOBgA5Gw/content/138307/

I have a man who emails me called Keith who likes pain. I have no problem with this as I don’t know him, and don’t cause him pain…but he wants to be my slave. Now I have considered letting him clean my home and then hitting him with sticks, but I get the feeling sex may be involved.
My daughter Ashley is desperate for him to come here, she says he can clean her awful room and she will kick the shit out of him and she really doesn’t care how sexual that is…he is cleaning her room for free!
I have no idea how people got to associate sex with pain, but I suppose if you were a soldier or a spy it would be a good thing eh? Imagine getting electrodes inserted into your penis, that’s hardly a torture if it’s what turns you on?
I personally hate pain; certainly not anywhere near sex either, if he doesn’t take the weight on his elbows I am in a strop!
So I am now into day three of not smoking and pain is suddenly looking attractive, I mean I could easily punch husband on the head if he irritates me one more time.
I am determined to stay off the fags, as I cannot cope with standing outside smoking…in the cold…trying to have a quick fag? That’s not good.
I am slowly getting together the ideas for our Edinburgh posters, I am stressed out and until they are all approved and sorted I won’t sleep.
It is driving me mad, as I have to get the venue to approve them, then get all the different sizes organised for brochures/flyers/posters and adverts.
I wish I worked in a canning factory now, I wish my life was simple; I went to work, came home and bought pizza. I didn’t have to organise travel, hotels or rehearse shows. But then I suppose I would be boring and Keith the S&M freak wouldn’t send me such scary emails.